The sound the crowd made went from commotion to havoc, ranging from shouting to applause.
She stood naked before them—the thousands of Dravaryns who now knew exactly who she was: Ellandria of Orchid, the lost heir. But it wasn’t only her body laid bare. It was everything she’d dragged to this moment: years of self-chosen exile, the bloody path to an enemy stronghold, the prophecy she’d never wanted and couldn’t outrun. Now, stripped beneath the eyes of a kingdom, she wasn’t merely exposed to Dravaryn—she was exposed to Orchid as well. Word would spread. Her people would learn where she’d gone, what she’d done. And the fallout…gods, she couldn’t afford to think about that now.
Jakobav’s gaze swept over her, unhurried and certain.
The heat in his eyes burned through her.
“Come,” he said, extending his hand. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t quite a command. It was possession dressed as an invitation.
Ella placed her hand in his, and the arena blurred as he drew her forward.
The High Vexari’s voice rose over the murmuring tiers.
“Clear the shroud. Bare the witness.”
At once, attendants rushed forward, black-and-silver robes flaring as they moved in perfect sync. Ropes were loosed, stakes drawn up, and the heavy silk walls of the tent collapsed inward before being pulled away entirely. Steam rolled outward from the hot spring and billowed into the chilled air, curling around Ella’s skin and causing her nipples to tighten, but she refused to be ashamed.
She was honored that Jakobav had chosen her.
The spring at the center wasn’t just a pool, but more like a living thing, larger than any courtyard fountain yet bottomless at its heart, its surface reflecting molten gold shifting over black petals caught in a current. Heat rolled off in pulsing waves.
From deep below, a low, continuous murmur seemed to rise through the water and seep into her soul. She couldn’t quite make out the words, or maybe it was incoherent syllables.
Is it possible for a body of water to murmur? Can anyone else hear that?
She stood at the top of the steps into the hot spring, bare to the air and to the truth of who she was. And though thousands watched, it wasn’t shame that rooted her in place; it was destiny.
Jakobav had undressed at the top of the stairs and was already halfway down, steam wrapping around the planes of his chest and shoulders like it couldn’t decide whether to caress or consume him. At the last step, with the water licking at his hips, he glanced back over his shoulder.
“Come, Ella,” he said, holding out his hand. Not a command she could refuse.
Her bare foot touched the first step, stone warm beneath her sole, and the scent of pear, juniper, and mineral heat wrapped around her as she descended. At first, she could still touch the bottom, her toes gripping smooth rock. But as they moved toward the center, the slope dropped away until the water was holding her entirely.
The inner circle took their places at the edge: Maeren’s blade still bloodied from Phase One, Savina’s silver-mesh gloves sparking faintly in the steam, Soren barefoot and bent forward with his palm on the arena floor, Thane’s eyes fixed on her with a private, unreadable smile, and Bryn grinning like he already knew the outcome.
They stood evenly spaced, forming a living ward around the spring.
The attendant’s voice carried to her from across the water. “Guide him. If the fates find him worthy, they will draw him below. Keep one hand beneath his back, the other at his thigh, and lead him to the center. Only there may he be taken.”
Ella swallowed. “And if they don’t?”
The attendant’s expression did not change. “Then he will not rise with new power. Or he may not rise at all. And this day will be remembered for a very different reason.”
The water shimmered as Jakobav turned onto his back, muscles shifting under the molten light. “Ready?”
No. Absolutely not.
But she nodded.
Her hand slid beneath the small of his back, the other cupping the solid weight of his thigh, a low current rolling off of him, stirring the water around her fingers. Slowly, she guided him forward.
The hum beneath them deepened.
They reached the center, where the gold gave way to inky black, and nothing happened at first. Then the sacred pool answered and didn’t wait for them to be ready.
Its surface split open with a force like a thousand hands and dragged Jakobav beneath. He vanished in a rush of bubbles, his body wrenched down into the black.
The crowd erupted in shouted prayers and gasps.
